


all i have (to hold)

by Watch



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Everyone lives!AU, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Oral Sex, Tattoos, definitely schmoopy fluff, the last part is definitely schmoop, there's some definite kissing?!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 16:31:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watch/pseuds/Watch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in the flickering shadows, the pelt of hair on his chest looked unbearably soft, the points of his nipples mouth-watering, and the dips at either side of thorin’s lower belly begging for his tongue. bilbo swallowed, his mouth dry. valar, he wanted to devour this dwarf. to take every dark, bitter, burning piece of him deep inside and never let him go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. first

**Author's Note:**

> so, i finally decided that wanted to contribute some fanfic to the bagginshield tag. and, well…this happened. while there is some initial set-up, it is most definitely porn without plot and it is most definitely complete, but, um…here it is?
> 
> and apparently I have a hidden-tattoos kink. no actual khuzdul was revealed during this little bit of porn, so no worries, purists.
> 
> and....while this isn't my first fanfic, this is most certainly my first porn. so, please ask before jumping in to critique. i hope you enjoy!

Bilbo wasn't quite certain what he was expecting from a Dwarf-king's chambers. Lovely stonework, he supposed. Possibly gems set in decorative fixtures, and furs, plenty of furs, hanging on the walls and covering the stone floor. A healthy fire, certainly. The main chamber did not disappoint. Intricately carved walls led upward to a vaulted ceiling, with tapestries that looked more than slightly faded and worse for wear; a near century of neglect would do that, he supposed. There were certainly furs, and if most of them were suspiciously fresh warg pelts, well, he certainly wasn’t going to worry about _that_.  
  
Two fireplaces on either side of the chamber were a surprise, but then, it certainly would take a fair amount of heat to ensure the room was comfortable. He shuffled closer to the walls, his curiosity getting the better of him. The counter-reliefs were stunning, he decided, reaching out to touch the smooth stone, and were interspersed with runes, geometric patterns, and what looked like pictographic carvings, the latter appearing quite old, indeed. There were veins of styled gold and silver threaded around and even at points within them. One even appeared to be a vein of pure diamond, but it couldn’t _possibly_...His fingers twitched, eager as they were to trace those ancient carvings, to make a wax copy for later study. The feel of a warm hand sliding into his own drew his eyes from the walls and up into Thorin’s gleaming gaze.  
  
“What do you see, Bilbo?” he asked, his voice soft and gentle. It seemed to hold a heady caress of its very own, to rollick most improperly along his nerves and leaving him feeling steeped in a strange, thrilling warmth.   
  
He supposed even back in his hobbit hole -- back before trolls and storm giants, pale orcs, skinchangers and Elves and dragons -- the delicious timbre of that voice had made, well, if it hadn’t made him weak at the knees at the time, it certainly had them feeling as if they _should_ have been. Glancing down now, he couldn’t help but stare at the roughened hand that was so strong in his, so solid and firm and no longer covered in blood. The hobbit swallowed hard, not quite able to breathe around the sudden lump in his throat, looking up and seeing Thorin's scarred face and gleaming eyes amidst the dancing shadows and flickering light. _He really is most extraordinarily beautiful_ , some part of his brain mused.  
  
“You,” he answered, voice more than a little breathless. Those blue blue eyes warmed even further, a small grin quirking at his lips and smoothing away the worry-lines on his forehead.   
  
The Dwarf-king’s grip tightened even as his smile deepened, and at the lightest of tugs, Bilbo followed him through another pair of doors. These were set to the right of the main room and along the wall of the rightmost fireplace, into another chamber with a ceiling even higher than the first. _Why do they need so much space underground?_ Bilbo felt his jaw beginning to slacken as he looked around, never letting go of the warm fingers entwined with his.  
  
Moving backward, Thorin led him into what must have been the royal sleeping quarters. It also had two fireplaces on opposite sides of a square room, in addition to furs on the floor and tapestries on the walls, there were those so _fascinating_ wall carvings and twisting veins of silver and gold. And again there was strange diamond-like metal that went up, up, up into a ceiling so extensive that Bilbo could see only shadows flickering in the heights. When the two of them stopped, he looked forward, looked beyond Thorin’s distractingly warm gaze, and saw the massive stone bed, piled quite comfortably with pillows and blankets and, yes, yes, apparently more furs. Carved of similar stone, a bench rested at what must have been the foot; he could see his traveling pack leaning against a leg.  
  
A bed without a headboard in the middle of the room, seemingly bathed in firelight.  
  
Bilbo’s hand tightened around Thorin’s and he took a single, quick step forward, eyes fixed upon that bed, a grin unfurling along his mouth. His breath came a little more quickly and he slid his gaze to the side, more than pleased at the hungry shadows that had darkened the Dwarf’s blue eyes.  
  
“And what do you see, now, my hobbit?” he asked, that voice of his deepening, the vowels growing rougher. Bilbo shivered at the anticipation ghosting along his spine. The hand that gripped his was pulling him closer until he bumped into Thorin’s chest, still grinning.  
  
“You,” he said again.  
  
He released his hand only to reach up and take hold of that quite dashing and majestic fur collar in a two-handed grip, a wickedly determined glint in his eyes. With all of his hobbit strength, he pulled Thorin down into, for Bilbo, at least, quite the toe-curling kiss.   
  
Swiping his tongue along the seam of warm, slightly chapped lips, quick as thought, he delved inside the gap of Thorin’s gasp. That same thrill of anticipation flared into sharp-edged arousal, a pulsing ache that at once pooled at the base of his spine and made a slight detour to his cock. He gasped, too, his eyes sliding shut as he pulled Thorin closer. Swiping his tongue along the back of the Dwarf’s teeth, hungry for his taste, he plunged into the kiss with all his Tookish recklessness. His hands loosened about the collar and wound their way up around his neck, tugging him down and twining into his hair. Bilbo could taste the smoky tang of roasted boar, the tingling burn of the Lake-town ale, and and and...  
  
It must have done something for Thorin as well because in the next second, Bilbo found himself lifted up, his legs were wrapped around the Dwarf’s waist, and Thorin was walking them with long strides to the bed. He closed his eyes, deepening the kiss with a hum of approval and he felt a tremor in the arms holding him aloft. Thorin’s breath was warm and delicious as it threaded through his teeth, his tongue moist and irresistible. Bilbo gave in to his own desire and caressed that tongue with his own, stroking it even as his hips began to unconsciously rock forward while they moved.  
  
Thorin did not toss him on the bed, did not rip his clothes off, but as he placed the hobbit on the mattress, stepping back slightly to remove his clothing, the sharp glint of hunger in his eyes had Bilbo whimpering, just a little bit, of course, no Baggins would ever be so improper. But that light, that wickedly carnal light in those blue blue eyes had him aching to just touch, to mold himself to that strong, muscled body and just _grind down_ until his eyes rolled up toward the endless ceiling as he screamed Thorin’s name and forgot his own. He sighed lightly, hands at the buttons of his shirt. As he busied himself with his boots, Bilbo’s own removal of clothing stuttered; it wasn’t his fault, certainly, that Thorin was such a...well, such a _handsome_ Dwarf. Off came his footwraps, his fine surcoat, the leather wristguards and Dwarven mail he could not seem to forgo, even in the safe halls of Erebor. Up over his head went the under-padding, off came the fine tunic, and right when his hands went to ties of his trousers, Bilbo stood, sliding off the mattress, and said, “Wait, wait.”  
  
He looked up, a question half-formed on his lips, but Bilbo stood quickly and pressed a finger to them, and the question died. The only sounds were the faint flickering of the flames, the occasional crackle as a log settled, and the heavy breathing of Dwarf and hobbit.   
  
Thorin was bare-chested, bare-footed, clad only in his dark trousers and presumably his smallclothes, though the thought of nothing under that cloth had Bilbo’s breath catching. The finger against Thorin’s lips curled the tiniest bit, the blunt nail digging down with the slightest pressure. He stared up into the Dwarf’s hooded, hungry eyes, having to try twice before finally saying, “You get on the bed, first.”  
  
A single dark brow lifted, and that small, indefinable smile quirked at Thorin’s lips once more. He inclined his head, pressing a light kiss to Bilbo’s finger, and turned around, kneeling onto the mattress and moving to the center. Turning again, he settled on his side against the pillows. That black brow rose again, and it made something inside Bilbo tremble, his breath quickening. His fingers had never been so nimble in unbuttoning his vest buttons, the braces holding up his trousers had never been so quickly cast off, and his shirt most certainly was not accustomed to being so hurriedly shucked. Restless hands stilled once he reached his own smallclothes, and he licked his bottom lip, taking it between his teeth, worrying it as he looked up.  
  
Thorin was not as hairy in the chest as he would have thought. Though certainly more hirsute than himself, he had an impressive covering of dark hair on his collarbone that ran down his torso to a delicious little trail that dipped down along his abdomen and lower belly that had Bilbo's fingers itching to touch. It certainly was not enough to be off-putting, and...were those _brands_ on his skin? Bilbo moved closer, half-consciously climbing onto the bed and crawling toward the Dwarf on his knees, his curiosity momentarily overriding his desire to damn everything and just rut against his, well, his _lover’s_ rather impressive body.   
  
The Dwarf-king had not moved, but his eyes, oh those hungry eyes. The light of the fire on his skin caused the hobbit’s heart skip a beat and his mouth to water. He wanted to taste those limned muscles, he wanted to take those dusky pink nipples into his mouth and worry the nubs to diamond-hardness, he wanted to follow that line of dark hair down his middle and into those now-inconvenient trousers, he wanted...oh, Bilbo _wanted_.  
  
"What are these?" he asked, taking a shaky breath, fingers moving quick and curious along the tattoos under Thorin's chest hair. "They're quite fascinating."  
  
And they certainly were. Two thick columns of dark runes and complicated geometric patterns began a few inches below his clavicle. They fell in straight lines down his front, marching unbroken from the top of his chest, cleverly worked around dusky pink nipples and then further down to the dips of his pelvis, and even then Bilbo could see that the columns disappeared under the waistband of those now very inconvenient trousers. Mouth dropping open and his eyes growing hooded, he absently noticed the thick bands of markings circling just below Thorin’s elbows, and a second set of intertwined, knotted lines banding around his biceps. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he decided that a little nibble would do him very nicely, indeed. Maybe after he had explored that hypnotizing little rectangular shape on Thorin’s hipbone.  
  
Bilbo looked away from the juncture of his, well, his lover's thighs, eyes skittering to his quite impressive chest instead. He bit his lip, trying to tamp down his curiosity. Thorin's nipples were bare of hair and ink, and Bilbo again had the inclination to take a pink bud into his mouth and suckle until his Dwarf bucked beneath him. The thought sent his heart racing and another shiver up his spine; he licked his lips without thinking, his focus quickly shifting to a pair of dots and a set of tiny runes just below his lover's right breast. His exploration grew bolder as he pressed his aching cock against a trouser-clad thigh, trying to keep his attention on that quite fascinating chest.  
  
Thorin had been silent for too long, and Bilbo's ever-tracing fingers hesitated, until the Dwarf finally spoke, his voice an octave lower than usual, perhaps a beat faster. "They are Khuzdul, my hobbit."  
  
Bilbo looked up, hands stilling and unconsciously biting his lip. He'd read somewhere that Dwarves had their own language, far different from the Man-influenced Westron of Eriador and even further from the hobbit-influenced Westron of the Shire. Certainly he'd heard bits of something somewhere along their journey together. It had been spoken in hoarse voices, the sound inexplicably sharp and biting, he remembered; like a wind blown in from east beyond the Shire, strong enough to blow most hobbits off their feet and always leaving a sense of having been scoured clean of nonsense. The others of the Company would quiet when they saw him. Always he had had the feeling that he’d stumbled onto something private, no matter how bright Bofur's greeting, how quick Fíli's smile, how loud Kíli's laugh, or how jarring Bifur's slaps on the back.  
  
He'd read that their language, this Khuzdul, was precious to them, and very rarely shared with outsiders. Teeth worrying at his bottom lip, he resumed tracing the patterns of runes and swirls, the jagged lines and seemingly random half-familiar shapes. Caressing some and barely ghosting along others, he lost himself in his thoughts and was quite oblivious to the gleaming eyes of the king.  
  
"They must be very important to you," he said, half-aware that he had moved his head even closer to his lover's body, straining to make out a particularly intricate tiny rectangle bordering irregular lines on Thorin's hipbone.   
  
Reveling in the soft crinkle of hair against his palm, he struggled to maneuver for a better position to make out what looked like a familiar rune. Absently brushing against Thorin's lower belly, he froze. The muscles there were as taut as bowstrings, quivering faintly under the press of his palm. Bilbo looked up in surprise, a word of worry ready on his tongue. His mouth dropped open at the sharp, raw expression in Thorin's eyes. The heat in them sent a pulse of arousal from the base of his spine straight to the head of his cock. As he tried to draw in a breath, his hand flexed, and Thorin's breath hitched. Bilbo stared back, hardly daring to breathe himself. Splayed as he was across the Dwarf's thigh in his smallclothes, only now did he become aware of the hard muscles in Thorin's strong, powerful legs, clenching beneath him. The line of body was at once lit and shadowed by the light from the hearths. Slowly, his breath returned and he lowered his head to just above his lover's hip, painfully aware of another source of heat just inches away.   
  
Staring up into Thorin’s hooded, hungry gaze, Bilbo kissed the dark ink, softly at first, before pressing his tongue gently against the skin and watched the smoldering heat in those blue eyes flash into life. Though Thorin did nothing but remain as still as possible, the line of his body went as rigid as Dwarven steel, his hands gripping the sheets beneath them. Bilbo shifted slightly atop the Dwarf's thigh, becoming aware once more of his own growing hardness and doing his best to push it away. Things were getting far too interesting to stop now.   
  
He swirled his tongue around a pair of diamonds set in circles, moving slightly to kiss other shapes, other patterns, down a curving line, up a pretty piece of knotwork, and repeating while moving ever downward, before finally pressing his lips to suckle that particularly fascinating rectangle at the top of his lover’s hipbone.   
  
A faint, choked gasp had him looking up, tongue frozen on a point, and his heart stopped as Thorin's eyes rolled, his head dropping back onto the pillow. _Well, that’s certainly interesting._ Pink tongue darting out to lick a broad stripe over the tattoo, he watched the line of that pale pale throat stutter and his Dwarf began to pant. He whispered rough, guttural words that seemed to wrap themselves around the base of Bilbo’s throat, lick a path along his spine, and swallow all rational thought. Letting his mouth continue its appreciation of Thorin's hip marking, Bilbo busied himself with untying the stays of those inconvenient trousers.   
  
His fingers trembling as the last fell away, he took hold of the waistband and gently began shucking them downward, nipping at that particular tattoo hard enough for Thorin to choke on a gasp, his hips lifting slightly. Quick as an arrow, Bilbo pressed a final kiss to delicious patch of skin just under his navel, the resultant groan sending a hot pulse of arousal down into his cock.   
  
Moving with care, he drew the dark wool down and over large Dwarven feet, turning to toss them somewhere beyond the edge of the bed. When he looked back, his Dwarf was still spread on the bed, knees bent and toes digging slightly into the mattress. Thorin had regained some of his composure and was staring at him, his eyes at once dark with need and bright with lust in the firelight. In the flickering shadows, the pelt of hair on his chest looked unbearably soft, the points of his nipples mouth-watering, and the dips at either side of Thorin's lower belly begging for his tongue.  
  
Bilbo swallowed, his mouth dry. Valar, he wanted to _devour_ this Dwarf. To take every dark, bitter, burning piece of him deep inside and never let him go. Swallowing again, he shuffled forward, settling between those powerful thighs, his skin buzzing from their near-contact. Almost, but not enough. He shot a quick look down between them and felt the muscles in his belly tighten at the bulge in white cotton, a feral grin sweeping across his face as he breathed heavily through his mouth, teeth coming out to bite his lower lip.   
  
_Soon._ He bit down harder. _Very soon._


	2. second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in the flickering shadows, the pelt of hair on his chest looked unbearably soft, the points of his nipples mouth-watering, and the dips at either side of thorin’s lower belly begging for his tongue. bilbo swallowed, his mouth dry. valar, he wanted to devour this dwarf. to take every dark, bitter, burning piece of him deep inside and never let him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, i finally decided that wanted to contribute some fanfic to the bagginshield tag. and, well…this happened. while there is some initial set-up, it is most definitely porn without plot and it is most definitely complete, but, um…here it is?
> 
> and apparently I have a hidden-tattoos kink. no actual khuzdul was revealed during this little bit of porn, so no worries, purists.
> 
> and....while this isn't my first fanfic, this is most certainly my first porn. so, please ask before jumping in to critique. i hope you enjoy!

“So you _do_ wear smallclothes, I’d been wondering.” Bilbo murmured, looking up with a smirk on his lips and a wicked glint in his eyes. “Now, don’t move, King under the Mountain. Think of this as a test of your en-Durin-ce.”  
  
At Thorin's faint groan, Bilbo hummed in pleasure, eyes closing momentarily as he clambered up to nuzzle the prickly line of Thorin’s beard with his nose, breathing in his scent of woodsmoke and leather, tobacco and stubborn Dwarven prince, now a king. He settled on his knees just above Thorin's pelvis, short legs tucked under Thorin's, kissing the underside of his strong jaw, his ear, his nose, even pressing gentle lips to eyelids. And if Bilbo started to writhe just a little bit, well, no one could blame him, surely? Thorin certainly wasn't, not if the hand stroking the skin just above his backside was any judge.   
  
Bilbo moved his exploration further south, licking at the skin of Thorin's neck, paying particular attention to the hollow of his throat after a most exquisite gasp. He was in love with a king and currently in his bed, straddling him as if he were Myrtle, and oh, how he was going to _ride_ him before the night was over and dawn crept in somewhere beyond the Lonely Mountain.   
  
He stilled, unable to breathe and unable to move until he felt a gentle touch just above his wrist, stroking the flushed skin, and then his eyes opened. That dark, possessive lust in Thorin’s eyes was still there, they were still the hottest blue he had ever seen, but their shine in the firelight was also bright with emotion. Bilbo bent down, slotting to their groins together as he did their mouths. Slowly, upward, with a little twist and then back down, he slid his cock along the bulge in Thorin’s smallclothes, the heat between them building, the friction from the cotton of their underwear growing nearly unbearable, their kisses blossoming from languid to intoxicating and quickly escalating to scorching.   
  
The taste of Thorin was a heady experience, and despite himself, Bilbo quickened his pace, no longer casually sliding but moving to all-out grinding, his hands delving into dark dark hair and feeling even larger hands inch downward along the line of his back. He pulled away from Thorin’s mouth, turning his head to the side and dragging air into his lungs through clenched teeth as big fingers grazed the sensitive skin along his hip, surprisingly deft as they quickly undid the ties of his hobbit-smallclothes. The soft rasp of cotton being jerked away came at the exact moment when Thorin decided to taste the delicate point of his ear.  
  
His hands, which had until now been gently stroking the length of that dark-haired chest, clenched, his blunt nails digging into that pale skin as white-hot fire raced like lightning along his nerves. He gulped, struggling for what air he could find. Only when Thorin returned to nuzzling the delicate point with his nose could Bilbo move again, his strength momentarily diminished. He rested his weight upon his elbows, his face now bare inches from that of his lover, breathlessly amused at the self-satisfied look in Thorin’s eyes.  
  
"I'll have to remember that for the future," his Dwarf murmured, one hand solid on Bilbo's hip and the other stroking from the base of his spine to the nape of his neck.  
  
He could feel the heat of him through the thin cotton of the Dwarf's smallclothes and Bilbo’s moan was swallowed by Thorin’s kiss. He pressed down harder, rolling his hips, the friction building again. Trembling fingers threaded into Thorin’s hair and dug into the scalp, his mouth sucking on the Dwarf’s tongue even as big hands wrapped around his buttocks, pulling him closer, the head of his cock dragging messily along the cotton of Thorin’s smallclothes. Drawing in a ragged breath, moaning Thorin's name as he bit his lip, his eyes closed in pleasure.   
  
Blunt nails dug into his hip, a big hand pulling and massaging at his buttocks as Thorin sucked his tongue into the hot heat of his mouth, stroking it with his own and Bilbo lost himself, tangling his hands in the braids of Thorin's hair.  
  
Again and again, up and down, his hips rolled in a firm, deliberate rhythm. The heat of his cock slid along Thorin's with a breath of cotton between them. The rising scent of musk and sweat was exhilarating. As a strong tongue dipped inside his mouth, running along the palate, a thick finger dragged along the crease of his buttocks and Bilbo's hips stuttered, his gasps swallowed by dark Dwarven laughter...  
  
 _Too soon, too soon, not yet._ Panting slightly, Bilbo stilled his hips and opened his eyes, blinking away the haze of arousal that had fallen around them. Thorin groaned his name and a smattering of Khuzdul, rocking up into him, one hand still tight on his hip, the other moving to wrap around Bilbo's leaking cock. Just the feel of that warm pressure was enough for the hobbit to wobble on his knees. The friction of cotton and roughness of that calloused palm sent shivers along his spine and his nipples pebbling.   
  
"No," he gasped. "No, not yet."

Blunt nails dragging down Thorin's chest, enough pressure to leave sullen streaks on pale flesh, he maneuvered himself around despite the accompanying frustrated growls and shifted so that he now rested between Thorin's legs, bending to press a light kiss to the back of a pale, lightly-haired knee.   
  
His Dwarf stopped grumbling at that, one thick hand roaming his own chest, the other moving south toward his own smallclothes. Bilbo lightly smacked that hand before it got too far. Really, the sudden look of shock in those blue eyes should not have been that arousing, but as for the very becoming open mouth, well, that was a different story.   
  
"It's very rude, you know, to interrupt a hobbit as they contemplate a meal," he said, pressing a quick kiss to those knuckles to soothe the sting before placing that hand firmly on Thorin's upper abdomen. "I will be sure to expect better manners next time."  
  
The muscles of Thorin's belly quivered, and Bilbo smirked as he let his fingers lightly graze that sensitive skin, following that dusky trail of hair to the top of his lover's smallclothes, his grin widening at the sound of Thorin's breath hissing through his teeth. With a dark chuckle, he pressed a quick kiss and a quick lick to that delicious bit of skin below the navel.  
  
“The thing about us hobbits,” he murmured, smirking at the stifled moan when he finally reached the cotton cloth. Hard muscle trembled in Thorin’s forearm as he brushed light fingers from elbow to wrist, unable to reach any further, squeezing a strong hand before continuing south.  
  
“The thing about us hobbits is that we love our food,” he continued, nuzzling that delicious trail of dark hair, closer to the juncture of his thighs and resolutely not grinning at the very faint moan he was beginning to hear.   
  
“We savor every meal.” He leaned forward, his warm breath whispering just above white cotton. “And prepare it with pleasure and patience."   
  
Bilbo leaned over that thick bulge to press feather-light kisses to pale skin. "Knowing that anticipation, when done right, is a pleasure in and of itself."  
  
Ignoring the wordless muttering, he inched backward and wordlessly coaxed those very impressive legs to bend a little more.   
  
“There is the care of the ingredients, you see,” he continued as his hand, still faintly calloused from a year's worth of adventuring, reached out and stroked the back of Thorin's knee.   
  
Fingers trembling slightly, he was blind to the dazed look in his Dwarf's eyes, his labored breathing, as he bent to suckle that soft skin. Pressing light, languid kisses to intoxicating flesh as he moved further north, he stopped to lick at places when the taste was just too good to pass up, only half-aware of Thorin moving and his hoarse gasps, of having to place his arm over Thorin's other thigh to keep him in place.  
  
The further north he moved the more intoxicating was Thorin's skin. Some time in the future, he was going to taste every last inch of him, he swore, more than a little drunk on pleasure.   
  
Humming to himself, he pressed a deep kiss just before the juncture of thighs to pelvis before switching legs, chuckling at the moan that followed and the curse that carried after it when he started back down at his lover's knee. The foul words trickled to a stop after he nipped halfway along. They were replaced by hoarse breathing, the hand not pinching and pulling at a pink nipple clutching tightly to the sheets.  
  
“And hunger, well.” Bilbo ducked his head, finally allowing the line of his nose to drift down one side of the bulge in Thorin’s smallclothes. Between the faint crackling of the fires, he could hear was his Dwarf’s ragged breathing.   
  
“I suppose hunger is the best seasoning of all to a starving hobbit. And Dwarf, of course,” he added almost offhandedly. Not even bothering to keep the smile from his face at the answering groan, he pressed a kiss to the fast-beating pulse in that strong, powerful thigh.  
  
“Bilbo.” At last, Thorin spoke, that deep voice breaking around his name.  
  
The hobbit shuddered, a groan welling deep inside him. Looking up with a softer smile than he had ever worn gracing his lips, the hobbit rose on his knees and allowed himself a touch of his lover’s thighs. His hands skimmed up and down, enjoying the feel of coarse, dark hair under his fingertips.   
  
Slowly, he loosened the ties of Thorin’s smallclothes, leaning in to smell that delicious patch of skin just under his navel. With more than a hint of mischief, his tongue darted out and dipped into the small hollow. He chuckled at Thorin's sudden jerk, moving with the involuntary movement, nuzzling at the soft skin. Pulling away the cotton, he smiled at the sensation of Thorin's cock springing up so fast that it butted against the hollow of his throat. _Well, somebody is certainly eager._   
  
Bilbo flashed a wicked smile up to his Dwarf, the heat in those blue eyes and the white-knuckled hands grasping sheets pleasing him to no end.  
  
"You, Thorin Oakenshield, are quite the feast for this particular hobbit," he said in a hoarse voice, eyes fixed upon that stiff, thick cock, red from their foreplay, pre-come leaking from the slit. Hunger and arousal snapped along his spine, his own cock stiffening further in response.   
  
Mouth gone dry at the spread before him, he licked his lips, half-drunk on the smell of musk and woodsmoke and Thorin. "Oh,” Bilbo breathed. “You most certainly are."  
  
He moved forward, licking his way down in slow, languid swipes, pausing every now and then to gently lave a turgid vein, returning every so often to mouth at the swollen head. Breathing in the earthy scent of musk and sweat, he drank in each hard-won moan, imagining Thorin biting his own lips, enjoying the sporadic contractions of thick fingers that had found their way into his hair.  
  
When Bilbo’s mouth reached the base, he nuzzled the soft skin of Thorin’s bollocks without pause. Licking along the wrinkled skin, taking first one and then the other into his mouth, he stroked them gently with his tongue. As his hand kept up a firm pressure on the shaft straining above, he absently slung his free arm over Thorin’s belly to keep him in place. Releasing them from his mouth, he began to make his way back up on the rabbitskin-soft underside.   
  
Half an inch from the base, Thorin seemed to freeze, his gasp cutting off for the barest second before giving way to a breathless, almost inaudible whine. Writhing around him, his pale hips jerked toward the hobbit. He paused, closing his eyes for just a moment as the dark, addictive sound wrapped around him, filling him from the inside out.   
  
Once he found his breath again, he drew that particular stretch of skin into his mouth again and flicked it with his tongue, sucking the underside of Thorin’s cock with gentle pressure. At the rewarding groans, a dazed part of him wondered if he dared to give the tiniest little graze of teeth from root to tip; perhaps another time. At the harsh swallow of his name, Bilbo looked up, lips still suckling on the spot that had made his lover keen. Blue eyes blown so wide that they looked black in the firelight, he was dragging two fingers into his own mouth, firelight glistening off their shine as he sucked them in and drew them out between breathless, soundless moans, his other hand working at a nipple, his magnificent torso writhing above him.  
  
Fighting past the fog of arousal and sweat and musk and Thorin's deep groans around his fingers, Bilbo circled his thumb and forefinger around the base of his own cock, squeezing down to cut off the oncoming wave that he could feel down deep to his very toes. Panting, he fluttered his tongue against the blunt head, dipping the pink tip into the slit. Thorin bucked, a harsh guttural cry tearing itself from his throat. His body arching, feet digging into the mattress, Thorin gave a hoarse shout.   
  
Bilbo released him with a loud pop and shifted his head to watch as milky fluid erupted from the head, flying far enough that it spattered from the middle of his spine down to the dip above his buttocks.   
  
With confident hands, he palmed the soft skin until Thorin’s breathing returned to normal, wresting the last of his semen from his cock with pleasure. When his lover could open his eyes again, there was a wry, sated light in them that warmed Bilbo down to his toes.


	3. third

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in the flickering shadows, the pelt of hair on his chest looked unbearably soft, the points of his nipples mouth-watering, and the dips at either side of thorin’s lower belly begging for his tongue. bilbo swallowed, his mouth dry. valar, he wanted to devour this dwarf. to take every dark, bitter, burning piece of him deep inside and never let him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, i finally decided that wanted to contribute some fanfic to the bagginshield tag. and, well…this happened. while there is some initial set-up, it is most definitely porn without plot and it is most definitely complete, but, um…here it is?
> 
> and apparently I have a hidden-tattoos kink. no actual khuzdul was revealed during this little bit of porn, so no worries, purists.
> 
> and....while this isn't my first fanfic, this is most certainly my first porn. so, please ask before jumping in to critique. i hope you enjoy!

After cleaning themselves up, with Thorin taking an absurd amount of time on his part when it came to Bilbo, they settled back into bed, the Dwarf resting against an enormous pile of pillows and Bilbo firmly ensconced in his lap, stroking the tattoos that so fascinated him. His lover had picked up a small purple bottle of oil from somewhere and was currently turning it over and over in his hand, watching the firelight dance upon it. He wondered if his lover had noticed the glimmers that danced across his body; the light dancing across Thorin’s pale skin certainly captivated _him_.  
  
“Would you have me, this night?”  
  
Surprised at the note of hesitation, Bilbo looked up, blinking in shock. He had never seen those eyes so unguarded before. Placing hands on strong shoulders, he leaned up, one hand subconsciously stroking his lover’s long braid.  
  
"I bathed before dinner, you know,” he replied in a low voice. “Quite thoroughly.”  
  
"You were eager?" There was a light-hearted amusement threading through that deep voice that was at odds with the flashing heat in blue blue eyes. The bottle settled in Thorin’s palm.  
  
"Hopeful." Bilbo shrugged, a self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. Tugging on the braid, he leaned in, pausing for a half-second before gently rubbing his nose against Thorin’s, smiling when he chuckled. He continued, “And it would be a shame to let that bottle go to waste, don’t you think?”  
  
“Hmm.” The rumble that followed shook away what few uncertainties remained. “Perhaps next time we may share that pleasure?”  
  
Thinking of sharing the enormous bathtub he had used, set into the stone floor itself and supposedly heated by underwater springs, had him nodding enthusiastically before his mouth had caught up with his brain.  
  
“Oh, yes,” he answered as he licked his lips, struggling to keep his thoughts in the present. The time for filthy daydreams was later, when he didn't have a magnificent specimen of Dwarf straddled beneath him, a glistening palm already ghosting along his backside.  
  
Thorin’s kiss was surprisingly gentle, enough to claim the majority of Bilbo’s attention. Soft lips pressed lightly against his own, pulling away just far enough that he followed without thinking, twining his arms around his lover’s shoulders. He sighed into those lips, delighted when Thorin’s delicious tongue darted in between and playfully began to tease. Mind thoroughly transfixed on sucking him into his mouth, he was only dimly aware of Thorin leaning up, of having to angle his head upward while a warm palm stroked along his spine.  
  
A forefinger slick with oil began tantalizing circles around his anus, teasing the small pucker until it relaxed. It delved inside, at times crooking and massaging, and Bilbo deepened their kiss, eager hands cupping his face and stroking the dark beard, nibbling with perhaps a touch more pressure whenever that gorgeous finger moved. When the second oiled finger entered him, Bilbo broke away from Thorin’s lips, freeing a hand to work his own cock as best he could to offset the slight pain with pleasure, biting his own.  
  
He breathed deeply, listening to his lover's whispered words, shivering at the filth spilling from that beautiful mouth until he was able to relax again, beginning to thrust back against Thorin's palm.  
  
The Dwarf stroked his face with his free hand, bringing their heads together, kissing him with shared breath hissing through teeth. When the third slick finger penetrated him, crooking and massaging with the rest until they barely ghosted at that one glorious spot inside him, Bilbo's mouth dropped, his eyes snapping open.  
  
He couldn't know that his pupils were blown so wide that his eyes appeared black, couldn't know that his breathing had become nearly non-existent, his mouth opening so wide that his jaw appeared unhinged. His entire world was centered on the three fingers stroking inside him and the consuming lust in burning blue eyes. _Just a little more, just a little more..._ Thorin rumbled beneath him, his fingers slowly pulling out and Bilbo immediately whined, clenching to keep them inside him. His Dwarf chuckled, the sound rough and warm.   
  
“You have taught me the value of patience, my dear Bilbo,” he murmured, the broad muscle of his tongue licking a glistening path along Bilbo's neck before he began to nibble, tasting the soft skin and salty sweat.  
  
“Blast it, _now_ you choose to listen to me?” he panted. He most certainly did not whine, a Baggins would never whine, but oh, if he could shift just a little to the left...  
  
The rough pad of Thorin’s thumb skimmed between them, brushing along the sensitive skin of the hobbit’s taint and Bilbo shook, his breath rushing out in a gasp, still holding tight to Thorin’s hand. His Dwarf chuckled again, its low, guttural sound reverberating within his chest. reveling in his mirth and the strong beat of his heart, Bilbo closed his eyes, oblivious to both his own smile and that of his lover.  
  
“I must be dear with such a prize,” Thorin whispered, his breath warm and moist as he continued to stroke the flushed skin of his buttocks. “I would not have you broken, _jhukka-hai-azelm_.”  
  
As pleasurable as Thorin’s ministrations had been, that they were, something about the words rankled at him, something as dark and ugly as the Arkenstone business. Bilbo sat up, sliding off and away.  
  
“I am a person, Thorin,” he said softly, uncertain as to what was happening behind those hooded eyes. His free hand slipped onto their clasped fingers, squeezing. “I am grateful for the sentiment, but I am not some trinket that can be broken into pieces.”  
  
The Dwarf-king frowned, his grip tightening on the hobbit's hand. “You are my treasure,” he growled.  
  
Bilbo inclined his head, warmth and uncertainty sinking into his gut, but he did not break their stare. “I am not a thing,” he said, carefully watching him. “I will not be possessed.”  
  
A darkness swept over Thorin’s face, his gaze turning unbearably hard and implacable. Bilbo narrowed his own eyes, and bent quickly, sucking a dusky pink nipple into his mouth. Thorin’s sharp gasp encouraged him, and when he felt him begin to rise, to protest, Bilbo moved his hand to his lover’s breastbone, pushing down while biting a little harder than necessary in wordless warning. It was a pleasant surprise when the Dwarf-king actually complied, settling back, and Bilbo returned his attention to its proper place.  
  
He nipped, laved, and suckled that dusky pink bud until, well, until he was half-worried of causing injury, but Thorin’s body was once again taut with the right kind of tension, his breathing just this side of ragged, so perhaps Bilbo could use a little more pressure than he was wont. the thought sent a hot spike of lust straight to his groin and he rubbed himself against Thorin’s muscled thigh, taking some of the bite from his own hunger.  
  
Beneath him, Thorin groaned, his hands falling back and gripping the sheets. Bilbo eyed their white-knuckled grip with satisfaction and sucked with more enthusiasm before releasing the little bud and blowing lightly. He was rewarded with a harsh bark of laughter followed by a whine that shivered its way along his spine. Using nimble fingers, he pinched and soothed the other nipple with one hand, using the other to stroke that dark-haired chest, thoroughly enjoying the writhing and strangled groans.  
  
Thorin began to speak in that unfamiliar language as Bilbo’s hand slid to just below his navel and his tongue upped its pressure. When the words became low and rough, almost torn from his lover’s pale, pale throat, only then did Bilbo switch his torment to the other side of his chest. By now, the pink nubs were hard, both slick with his saliva, and that delightfully hairy chest was beginning to heave.  
  
He spoke, taking quick breaths between nipping and soothing the bites with his tongue. “Who took you all...from under...Thranduil’s nose?”  
  
Dragging his tongue along the juts of Thorin’s hips left a messy, glistening trail. Giving in to his own desire, Bilbo tasted the delicious hollow of his navel, paying it particular attention until he felt a restless hand skirt above him.  
  
He looked up, leveling a look as he went. “Who?” he demanded, using his fingers to lightly pinch the back of a thigh.  
  
Thorin jolted, gazing at him with hungry eyes as the hobbit licked along the skin just under the navel, slowly moving down.  
  
“You,” his Dwarf answered, falling back against the pillows, the hand not stimulating his chest over his eyes.  
  
Well, that wouldn’t do. Bilbo maneuvered his hand underneath them, not touching either of them. He closed the other around the root of Thorin’s cock, making firm, lightly squeezing strokes as he bent to lap at its leaking tip. “Who...hoodwinked...a dragon...into baring...its one weakness?”  
  
At the same time that he bobbed and sucked more deeply than he ever had before, he slid his forefinger along the crease of his lover’s buttocks. He had anticipated an animated response, and quickly released him before Thorin sent him choking even as he answered, “Y-you did.”  
  
Bilbo’s own hips were rutting against the sheets, his prick desperate for completion. Thorin’s delicious scent was intoxicating, but he was determined to continue. Glaring up, he was relentless. “Who kept that silly jewel from killing you all through your own stupidity?”  
  
“You.” His Dwarf had grown hoarse, unable to tear his eyes away.  
  
The hobbit bent again, shifting down, suckling even as he circled his hand around him, squeezing to keep Thorin from climaxing. “Who saved your life against the Pale Orc when vengeance took your reason and you tried to fight alone?”  
  
“Y-You.”  
  
Thorin’s voice was nearly gone. Bilbo moved down to suckle and swirl his tongue around the head, fluttering around the frenulum. Remembering Thorin’s response to a little pain, he chucked caution into the fire and let the barest edge of his teeth skim along the underside from the base to midway up the shaft. Thorin jerked at the sensation, followed by the most  the words that came after sounding obscene even to Bilbo’s unlearned ear. Mixed with a fair amount of half-garbled Westron, he understood enough to blush a most unbecoming red.  
  
Thorin looked down at him in a stupor, eyes wide and his mouth hanging open, dragging air between his teeth. "Bilbo,” he said, lifting his hips as if in encouragement.  
  
The greedy whine in his voice thrilled the hobbit despite himself, but he would have none of it, and leveled an unimpressed look back at his Dwarf. "For being an idiot, you don't get a second magic kiss today."  
  
Thorin groaned, bringing an arm up to shield his face, muttering under his breath. Bilbo waited, caressing the strong thighs that bracketed him, his touch massaging the tense muscles and soothing the short hairs that had bristled. When the tremors had faded, Thorin rubbed his face before lowering his hand, a rueful smile on his lips and genuine contrition in his eyes. “You are not helpless and I am a fool.”  
  
Bilbo smirked, and gestured for him to continue. A grimace curled at his upper lip, but Thorin grudgingly soldiered on, obviously thinking on what might appease his hobbit. “I will...be courteous to Thranduil?”  
  
“Well, not too much,” Bilbo drawled, hiding his surprise. _That_ was more than he had expected. “We wouldn’t want the Elvenking to drop dead from shock.”  
  
Thorin chuckled at that, the frown lines upon his brow smoothing away and the shine of his eyes glinting in the firelight. Calloused fingers stroked the side of his face and he leaned into them, his eyes sliding shut, humming in pleasure. Without thinking, his hands had begun tracing the tattoos under dark chest hair, dimly aware of the nipples hardening at his touch.  
  
“You know,” the hobbit said after a moment. “I had hoped we could do a little bit more in this bed before collapsing from exhaustion.”  
  
Lips pressed against his temple and Thorin answered warmly, “There was to be another flask of oil in the storage chest.”  
  
Bilbo opened his eyes with a laugh, squeezing his arm even as he smiled. “Eager?”  
  
His Dwarf did not even have the grace to blush; instead he touched their foreheads together, lips sneaking in for a quick kiss. “Hopeful,” he whispered.  
  
There was indeed a second small flask inside the stone chest; a good thing, too, as the first had ended up on the floor, no doubt lost during their, er, activities. He didn’t have it in him to care that it hadn’t broken. Bilbo claimed the pretty green bottle with eager hands and by the time he had clambered back up the bed, his Dwarf was sitting up, his cock already partially erect. Bilbo settled between his legs. Together, they popped the cork and slicked the oil onto Thorin's member, the hobbit with trembling fingers and the other with shuddering breath.  
  
They kissed as their hands locked atop the hot flesh and moved as one, Thorin sucking on his tongue with such urgency that Bilbo could scarcely breathe. One hand reached up, stroking a bearded cheek as gradually, he gentled Thorin's kiss until they were both lapping at each other's mouths. Their chests came together as they moved, each with an oiled, stroking hand on Thorin's cock. Bilbo's slick fingers inched lower until they reached the wrinkled sac beneath them. At his touch, Thorin tore his mouth away from his, with what sounded like a hoarse cry hitching in his throat.  
  
Bilbo played with the sensitive balls gently and with clever fingers, muttering to himself that next time he was going to suck them until Thorin keened. Apparently, his Dwarf thoroughly approved because he bucked beneath him, pulling him into another kiss that sucked the air from his lungs and had his heart thundering inside his chest. His clever fingers moved even further downward, brushing over the sensitive skin of his Dwarf's taint in gentle, circular motions.  
  
Thorin froze, breathing so hard and so fast the Bilbo was afraid that he had done something wrong and looked up. Pupils blown so wide that there was only the barest sliver of blue around the edges, his hairy, sweaty chest heaving, his oil-slicked cock red and weeping and glorious between them...Bilbo felt his trepidation creep away. With firm hands, he pushed at Thorin's shoulders, pressing him down onto his back and Bilbo settled himself more firmly on top, feeling the wet slide of an oiled prick along the crease of his anus. He bit his lip, moving to feel that delicious caress again, reveling in the friction of dark hair against his own weeping member, eyelashes fluttering against his skin as their lids closed in pleasure.   
  
He shivered as a warm, slick palm ran along the line of his throat before he rose on his knees, taking slick fingers in his own. Opening his eyes, his breath caught at Thorin staring as if he had never seen him before.  
  
One hand gripping Thorin's, the other reaching back to hold that magnificent cock, Bilbo teased himself with its blunt head before sucking in a breath and bearing down, inch by inch. He had to stop every few seconds to catch his breath and try to relax further, one hand still tightly locked with Thorin's. Thick fingers had found Bilbo's hip, and were fluctuating between squeezing and stroking the skin. At his breathy moan, Thorin seemed to shudder beneath him.  
  
Biting his lip brought little relief from the stretching sensation and the overwhelming feeling of being filled. Bilbo gulped for air before bearing down again, the dull ache fading as he realized Thorin's hand had wandered from his hip and was teasing the base of his cock. Bilbo rocked forward, lifting up and crooking his hips on the way back down, his mouth falling open at the sensation.  
  
Again and again he rocked, his heart racing, the blood in his veins singing, Thorin's groans and half-muttered Khuzdul wrapping around his very spine, the spill of his name on those delicious lips. Bilbo's hand slid on that sweaty, hairy chest, tweaking at pink nipples and bending to nip, lave, and suckle.  
  
And then Thorin hit that spot inside him that sucked the air from his lungs and set his internal muscles clenching, his eyes flying open and his mouth dropping wide.  
  
Thorin was biting his lip, his own eyes locking with his hobbit, the pale line of his throat drawing in deep, ragged gasps. Bilbo leaned forward, capturing that mouth in a breathless kiss, and Thorin let go of him to run a hand down his face. The friction of his own cock against Thorin's hairy stomach was agonizing, tiny jolts of lightning tearing him apart, and he broke from the kiss, still clutching at Thorin's hand. He moaned, running trembling fingers up over his own sweaty, hairless chest, over his breastbone and along his neck, sucking hard on two fingers.  
  
He was close. He was so close. As he and Thorin found that spot inside him again, ramming down and rocking up again and again, a rough palm cupped him, quick, firm strokes from root to tip, sending lightning-hot euphoria straight to his brain.  
  
"Thorin," he choked, looking down into those blue blue eyes, his hips stuttering, his balls tightening. His hand clenching around his lover’s fingers, the air in his lungs evaporating, incandescent stars exploded around them. "Thorin."  
  
Every muscle in his body seemed to clench as he felt himself let go, eyes rolling up into his skull as hot semen spilled between them, smearing both of their bodies, glittering in the firelight against that pelt of dark hair. He could barely hear Thorin's answering roar, could barely register being flipped onto his back, his lover withdrawing to nearly the tip and then driving forward again and again, his hips snapping back and forth in deep, powerful thrusts, Thorin calling his name in hoarse, strangled grunts.  
  
As sound returned to the world, Bilbo could finally feel the sweaty slap of Thorin’s balls against his buttocks. And then his Dwarf, his magnificent Dwarf, all at once collided with that exquisite bundle of nerves inside him at the exact moment that Thorin sucked hard on the point of his ear. Bilbo clenched his muscles again, his vision whitening once more, a guttural scream tearing itself from his throat, what was left of his brain sputtering not far behind. _Thorin, Thorin, Thorin..._


	4. fourth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in the flickering shadows, the pelt of hair on his chest looked unbearably soft, the points of his nipples mouth-watering, and the dips at either side of thorin’s lower belly begging for his tongue. bilbo swallowed, his mouth dry. valar, he wanted to devour this dwarf. To take every dark, bitter, burning piece of him deep inside and never let him go.

When he awoke sometime later, strong arms had him clasped against a hairy, sweaty chest. Thorin must have felt him stir, for soft lips began nibbling along his shoulder, a teasing tongue leaving unknown patterns against his skin. 

Feeling as if he had been wrung through a laundry press, Bilbo turned on his side, capturing his Dwarf in a kiss that gentled and soothed what little pain had endured through his rest. Thorin shifted, half-sitting up to recline against the pillows. Neither of them was inclined to break the kiss as they maneuvered so that Bilbo was once again on top, settling with their groins together. For now, the rasp of coarse hair between them was nothing more but pleasant stimulation, their focus far more interested into how much either could map of the other’s mouth.  
  
Finally, after stroking his tongue along a sensitive palate and feeling Thorin’s skin thrumming under his hands, he pulled his head back and opened his eyes.  
  
“I am yours,” he whispered, letting his body relax against him, confident in his strength. With soft touches and brief kisses to Thorin’s cheeks, his jawline, the middle of his chin and the side of his nose, he tried to convey the truth in his words. “No pile of treasure, no gold, no gem, no Heart of the Mountain could tempt me from your side.”   
  
Bilbo sighed at the answering rumble that neither accepted nor commented. He rested his forehead on his brow for a long moment, breathing in his scent. “All that I desire, I have found with you,” he murmured. Bringing one pale, strong hand up between them, he kissed the knuckles. "As I hope that you have found with me."

Thorin said nothing, his eyes glittering with an emotion Bilbo could not name, but hoped would grow into a love as deep as his own. They stayed together for long moments, so close that when they breathed, neither could tell where one ended and the other began, if they cared at all. The scent of musk and cooling sweat was pleasant with the sweet, somnolent balm of agarwood curling around them.  
  
"There is no warmth without you," he said softly, as if unsure. Bilbo was feeling more than a little light-headed, himself. As he stared down at him, his shock plain on his face, a familiar crease furrowed Thorin's brow once more. 

"The beauty of jewels and metal is brilliant and cold," he murmured, the words rumbling in his chest. "But you breathe color into a world of shadow and ash, and warmth into a cold and bitter heart.”   
  
Two thick fingers traced a line from the hobbit's temple down the line of his jaw, the scarred pad of a thumb following in their wake. "However it is that I have you now, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire," Thorin whispered, tracing a smooth line before cupping his jaw. "I would share that light within you beyond the end of our days."  
  
Perhaps he would have said more, had not Bilbo cut him off with a fierce kiss. Trembling hands grazed the prickly line of his beard before moving to either side of his neck, holding him in place. And if light glittered on a wet cheek, well, neither was in a position to say exactly which belonged to whom.  
  
Sometime later, when they were both situated on their sides facing the fire, Thorin settled behind him and Bilbo himself snug against that warm chest, the hobbit remembered his earlier interest.  
  
"What do they mean?" he asked in a hushed voice, tracing what he could of the geometric bands twined around a well-muscled upper arm.  
  
A low chuckle answered him, followed by something that sounded suspiciously like 'hobbits' and 'damned curiosity.' Tucking Bilbo more firmly into him, Thorin followed his tracing finger with one of his own. “As they grow into maturity," he said at last, voice smooth as rich wine. "Dwarven children are at times shaved and given the marks by their family, usually by their  _sekhem-amnil_ , the one who holds their teaching, their counsel through life. A...a guardian parent, you might say.  
  
"It is our history.” Thorin looked down as Bilbo shifted, turning over to face him, a hand tracing along the marks on his chest. “The whole of our family line," he said softly. "Our own deeds adding to the greater story.”   
  
“Would you teach me?” Bilbo asked, looking up, curious. “How to read them, I mean?”  
  
Thorin stilled, his brow furrowing in thought. After a few moments, Bilbo tapped him on the chin. He could feel that slow, sweet smile curling against his skin just before Thorin nipped at his finger, pressing a kiss before letting him go. Bilbo splayed the hand across his lover’s chest as his Dwarf shifted, settling more comfortably onto his back with the hobbit tucked into his side. A strong arm came up around him, holding him in place as Thorin leaned over to press a kiss onto his temple.  
  
“I cannot teach you,” he said softly, his breath warm against Bilbo’s skin. “That...that would be a step too far. But learning from what you may hear from others less reticent than I, from books left unattended, well. It would seem that your cleverness would have gotten the best of Dwarven stubbornness once more.”  
  
It was quiet then, as Bilbo allowed himself to be simply content with the sound of their breathing and the flicker of flames and the warmth of soft furs. Until his Dwarf shifted and suddenly Bilbo was the one on his back in the middle of the bed with Thorin the one curled around him, tucking his head just under Bilbo’s underarm and settling with his chest as his pillow. The hobbit brushed a hand along his lover’s side, stretching to trace the markings on his hip, and was slightly amazed at the instant response.  
  
“Again?” he asked, only half-joking.  
  
“It’s the magic in the ink,” Thorin replied, his voice more than a little drowsy. “The marks are sensitive.”  
  
Well, _that_ was interesting. he turned that over in his mind, thinking on the possibilities. “Thorin," he said quietly, a small smile at the corner of his mouth.  
  
His Dwarf looked up, resting his chin upon Bilbo’s breastbone. "Yes?"   
  
“You have the same marks down your back."  
  
Thorin breathed in Bilbo's scent, ducking his nose against skin and pressing a kiss to just below the hobbit's own pale brown nipple. Bilbo could feel a slow smile unfurling against his skin. "Yes," he said again, the warmth in his voice soothing something dark and cold inside him that he could never before explain. "I do."


End file.
